


It's Skirts Like You What Gives Love A Bad Name

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 12:55:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14915762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When Garrison becomes the matrimonial target of a General's highly determined niece, he's in for a lot of good-natured ribbing from the team. That is, until it becomes apparent that her plans are putting the whole lot of them at grave risk.  Can Julie Richards and General Abernathy (Garrison's erstwhile Godfather) quash the ambitious young woman's plans, with the help of a custom wedding ring and a sophisticated 'Continental' arrangement?  If nothing else, it gets Goniff into a set of well-fitting evening clothes, which just can NOT be a bad thing!





	It's Skirts Like You What Gives Love A Bad Name

He didn't realize what was happening, not at first. He met a lot of people, after all, in all kinds of situations, and was obliged to do a hell of a lot more socializing than he thought should be necessary for someone in his position. His protests that he was a field officer, not a public relations officer were dismissed flatly. It was almost a command performance, unless he was out on assignment, or so banged up as to present 'an untidy appearance'. The guys had started ragging him that he was getting shot, or stabbed, or caught at the tail end of an explosion just to avoid all the rigamarole of the London social scene. 

Well, yes, he disliked it about as much as Meghada did, but no, he didn't go out of his way to get all banged up just to avoid it (although he did envy her ability to just say no to 99% of the invitations). Well, maybe he did delay taking off some of those bandages an extra day (or two, or three) if he thought he could get by with it and thereby send 'regrets' to some dinner, or party, or something of the sort. Well, who would blame him? He was a soldier, not a socialite. Still, he'd stopped short of having Actor create some nasty looking facial wounds as an excuse, (so, yes, he had thought about it, but he hadn't actually done it!) so it wasn't like he didn't have some restraint. 

So, while he went and did the pretty when he had to, he didn't really focus on many of the people he met except in a rather desultory manner. Especially the female ones with a gleam in their eyes. Before this assignment he'd paid attention, yes, took advantage of certain opportunities as they presented himself, though he never considered himself a hound. He was honest, made it clear to the women up front that he wasn't interested in anything more than a brief interlude. The very few men who approached him, he declined, more with puzzlement than with anger; he'd been around enough not to be shocked after the first two or three offers, but had never been interested in that direction, not even out of curiosity. If nothing else, he knew quite well what the military thought of such encounters and he planned to make the military his career. 

Once he was reassigned to this new duty, running jobs behind enemy lines, he turned aside even the more tempting of the female offers. He'd thought long and hard about it, but decided it was the best decision, if a rather uncomfortable one, for a lot of reasons. He didn't need any hostages to fortune, any added pressure that could be presented by the enemy or its agents; didn't need the worry about falling prey to some budding Mata Hari, or leaving someone behind in case of his not-unlikely capture or death; certainly didn't intend to turn to the working girls or the houses with their own set of risks - oh, there were various reasons.

Initially and for some time thereafter, he'd made a sincere effort to convince his groin it was MIA for the duration and had succeeded fairly well. Well, that is until a pair of pale blue eyes and an engaging smile and a caring heart sneaked past his defenses, and there he was, knee-deep in a situation that would scandalize the chain of command along with most everyone else he knew or met. And even more, he was deeply, sincerely in love, for perhaps, no certainly, for the first time in his adult life. 

So, no, keeping track of the smiling women he encountered just wasn't on his to-do list, and so the fact that he was being stalked and hunted, just as intently as if he'd been a trophy animal caught in the sights of a big-game hunter in deepest Africa just bypassed his attention. For awhile. Until it became so obvious people started mentioning it to him, asking him questions, then it got to be embarrassing, and from there, more than embarrassing, actually unpleasant and troubling. 

The guys thought it was kinda funny to begin with, started teasing him about his 'conquest', asking him when they should get fitted for their tuxedos, cause "you are gonna have us as your best men, right?" until it wasn't funny anymore, not when all the implications started becoming apparent. Their teasing started sounding less like teasing now, and more like worrying.

And as for Goniff? Well, Garrison didn't care for the look in those pale blue eyes, not one bit. He'd found out his pickpocket could get quite demonstrative when he felt boundaries had been crossed, with either Garrison or with Meghada; the vision of Goniff laying Margaret Blankenship out cold with one sneaky punch gave him the shudders - while their slender blond hadn't knocked that encroaching Colonel Hogan out cold, he'd certainly knocked the unsuspecting officer flat across his makeshift desk there in the tunnels beneath Stalag 13, surprising the hell out of everybody there, except maybe for Meghada. He remembered that cold voice snarling, "told you to keep your ruddy 'ands off that what don't belong to you; you shoulda listened!"

While he REALLY didn't think Goniff would hit the woman, he felt that left a lot of room for inventiveness, of which Goniff was more than capable. So Garrison took the problem to someone he thought he could trust to not only help, but also to refrain from laughing, well too much anyway, at the situation he'd managed to get himself into, all unknowingly. That he asked Goniff to go along, well, that was only a sensible precaution, maybe keeping the cheeky little man from conspiring with the rest of the team and maybe going ahead and trying to deal with the situation in a less than acceptable way. And besides, an evening with his pickpocket at his side, there were certainly benefits to that as well.

Meghada listened, and to her credit didn't even crack a smile, not til further into the conversation. She'd prepared a hearty supper; well, she and Garrison considered it a substantial meal but she could tell by the way Goniff looked around toward the sideboard, making sure there was something there for afters, that he didn't necessarily feel the same.

"Yes, laddie, there's a berry cobbler sitting over there for dessert, with cream to go over, so stop craning your neck and eat what's in front of you!" she scolded him mildly.

Garrison just shook his head in mock disbelief. To his mind, the vegetable lasagna in the rich tomato sauce with plenty of melted cheese throughout and more in a browned crispy layer on top, with the fresh baked bread, and the salad chock full of good things from her garden - all that would have been most sufficient, even lavish in these days of rationing; but for their pickpocket, if there wasn't an afters, the meal, no matter how tasty and plentiful, just wasn't quite enough. How anyone that size could eat that much, he just didn't understand, though the sight of the slender man packing away whatever was offered, accompanied by almost orgasmic groans of delight, gave Garrison more pleasure than seemed reasonable. {"Just like how pleasant it is to wake in the middle of the night and listen to him muttering to himself!"} wishing that could be every night, not just the nights they were able to spend at the Cottage.

"So, you are being pursued, and most fervently by this very rich, well connected, very attractive young lady. May I ask a rather old fashioned question? Just what are her intentions, or has she communicated those yet?"

Garrison rolled his eyes and sighed, "holy matrimony, and before the Season is over, which means within six weeks at the most! Meghada, I haven't given the woman the slightest encouragement, only danced with her maybe twice as part of the general socializing I'm expected to do, have been forthwright about my total disinterest in ANY involvement, have declined any and all other invitations, have gone all the way up to being absolutely rude, and she doesn't get the message!" 

"Perhaps she's just refusing to hear what she doesn't want to hear, Craig. And you truly think this rather extreme interest of hers is worrisome? Do you think you'll forget how to say no? That she'll find some way to force you to give in to her wishes? Coercion, blackmail?"

"Well, I don't think she's going to try to take me to the church at gunpoint or anything like that," chuckling reluctantly at the thought, "but she's talking like it's a done deal, even telling people that, and there's some who are swallowing the lot of it. She's after General Bond, her uncle, to move me to something 'less dangerous', something with 'regular hours' where 'he can be home for proper meals like he should.' Someplace where I'm not "associated with such dreadful people, subjected to such vulgar behavior." And the General? He's all smiles and claps me on the shoulder, tells me how pleased he is that 'little Margaret' found someone like me, and that there are all kinds of sensible opportunities for a young man like myself, one with a new family to consider."

"I keep expecting to hear I've been transferred to desk duty, hell, maybe put to work as a damned file clerk, just to please her. Can you imagine me sitting in a corner counting paper-clips? Maybe harranging Ainsley or another team leader about losing their radios on a mission, telling them "those things cost money, you know!"??"

"And aside from all else, where does that leave the guys? At best, with someone else coming in to lead them," that getting a rather nasty snarl and muttering under his breath from the man steadily eating his way through that plate of food, "at worst, well, who knows? Actor even brought up the possibility that, next trip out, if the opportunity presents itself, it might be best to take a bunk, and I can't really disagree with him on that! Still, while them sitting out the war somewhere in Switzerland would be safer for them, surely, it would mean giving up their possibility for parole, being with their families after the war; you know that, Meghada! And I don't like the odds in their favor under someone else either." 

Goniff wiped up the last of that rich sauce with a crust of bread and popped it into his mouth, swallowed, then took up the thread of conversation.

"Not that we are all too sure we're getting those paroles anyway, and it's only Casino and me that 'ave families waiting for a visit, least Chiefy don't and Actor's never said 'e does. Still, we've all talked about sticking together after the war, somehow, and doing a bunk now might put a spoke in that wheel. And Craig letting us get away with it? They'd cashier 'im for sure; end up in Leavenworth most likely! And you know 'im; aint like 'e'd let 'imself come with us; no, 'e'd stay behind to face them. But another officer, someone other than Craig? You know that won't work; ruddy miracle it worked out this time round. Don't get a lucky roll of the dice like that twice in a row, not with everything landing just right. Yeah, well, Wheeler was a bad roll, but that was settled right at the beginning."

"And anyway," and a flush crossed that pale face, "if Craig wanted 'er, wanted to marry 'er, that'd be one thing. But 'e says 'e dont, that . . ." and broke off, not sure how to finish that.

The hand that stretched out to cover his, the understanding half-smile and the warmth in those green eyes, it answered anyway, the words only solidifying the message.

"Well, Craig doesn't want her, doesn't want to marry her. Craig is totally content, most happy with you, he doesn't want anyone else," and those blue eyes seemed to relax a bit, and a shy smile flickered across Goniff's face. If this all had been a surprise to Garrison, it had been just as much so to their pickpocket, and both still coming to grips with the unexpected, ever-evolving relationship. Garrison though wryly that they'd probably get it all figured out, resolved in about sixty, seventy years or so, that is if they really worked at it.

Meghada let that grin out now, the one she just couldn't help at the sight of those two who'd found each other under such unusual circumstances; if anyone had expected her to be jealous, well, they didn't know her or her people well. Such committed relationships, involving more than two people, just weren't all that uncommon among the Clan. 

"Yes, well, now that that's settled, how do we convince the stubborn Miss Blankenship that Craig is not hers for the taking? She obviously isn't one for taking a hint, and just as obviously, us walking up to her and telling her "he's ours; take a hike," isn't feasible, no matter how we'd like it to be," giving Goniff a sympathetic, understanding look.

"I wonder, just how much do we know about her?"

Upon finding there wasn't a lot they hadn't already told her, she nodded and went to the phone on the wall and dialed a number she knew by heart, though with certain misgivings. Julie Richards was as much of a wild card in her own way as the guys were, but she knew everything about everyone and was firmly well-intentioned toward Meghada, and through her, the team.

"Hello, Julie? What luck!" frowning and motioning abruptly with her free hand at the men and the groans they had given in unison. "Is this a bad time? Are you headed out? I find myself in need of your so-capable assistance with a little problem. Could you perhaps meet me tomorrow for lunch? Lovely. And, Julie, any little tidbits you might have for me about a Miss Margaret Blankenship, niece to General George Bond, especially regarding her pursuit of Craig Garrison, but really anything connected to her, even the most inconsequential? That would be most welcome. All strictly between us, of course!"

Garrison shook his head; bringing the irrepressible sister of the uptight British Major Richards into the mix didn't bode well for his sanity. A time and place was set up for a meeting the next day, and Meghada returned to stand by the table. 

"Shall we move the discussion to the other room, perhaps discuss the possibilities?"

She was amused at the enthusiastic reaction to her suggestion, even more at which direction they herded her. She'd truly intended the sitting room as their destination, perhaps with coffee and some of that berry cobbler, and talk about the situation, but the men hadn't taken it quite that way and obviously had plans of their own, Goniff even being willing to delay that incursion into the sweets in that effort.

While she was laying out some possible solutions, the two men were busy laying themselves out comfortably on that big bed of hers, shedding their clothes as they did so. Now, as she tried to focus on the pictures in her mind, of various scenarios, she found herself distracted by the very attractive picture forming in front of her. Two blond heads, one gold, the other flaxen; green eyes, blue eyes shining with anticipation; both figures slender, lithe and sleek; smiles promising and eager.

"You know, it's rather difficult to concentrate with the two of you sprawled out there like that," she chided them gently.

That got low chuckles from each of them, "then stop concentrating, luv, and come 'ere. Time enough for all that tomorrow; can't do much til you talk to the chatterbox anyhow." And she let herself be convinced, and perhaps that convincing lit the flicker of thought that eventually helped them come to a resolution.

{"That juicy berry cobbler, even with the heavy cream, really was an anticlimax!"} Garrison thought as he found himself chuckling on the way back to the Mansion, well aware of all the really dreadful puns in that thought, remembering that long list Actor had recited to him in a similar vein after that appalling incident with Danvers. ("Honey Trap"). He still winced at that outrageous con he'd pulled, and wondered how he'd ever had the nerve! A second cobbler was secure in a basket on the rear floorboard, well out of Goniff's reach. Meghada had decided it wasn't fair for the rest of the guys to miss out on all of the sweetness of the evening!

"So she really is acting like this 'relationship' is real?"

Meghada still had a hard time believing the woman was that delusional. Julie Richards had disputed that term, though, saying in her opinion Margaret Blankenship wasn't delusional, just damned determined to get what she'd decided she wanted, what she considered she deserved simply by weight of being who she was.

"Oh, most certainly. It's as if she keeps talking about it, getting other people convinced of the truth of it all, the Lieutenant will simply, as an officer and a gentleman, you know, have no choice but to go along! She goes on and on about how good he is to her, all the sweet things he says to her, how happy they are to be setting up housekeeping together, how he's eager to take up another position to allay any worries she might have about him, his current duties being far too dangerous for a married man. To hear her talk, it's the romance of the century, true love. Talks about bridesmaids and wedding breakfasts; debates where to go on a honeymood since 'Paris obviously is out of the question. Perhaps Geneva?'. Has been talking about 'removing him from the influence of those unseemly and uncouth people he's been forced to work with'. Kevin is beside himself with the thought of losing the Lieutenant, with coming up with someone else to lead the team, but the General is being pushed by his most determined niece to reassign him to something . . ." 

"Oh, I heard. Something safer, with regular hours, where he can come home to regular meals. Craig has nightmares of answering the phone and being told he's now the new File Clerk for Special Housing! Has no one explained to the woman that there's a war on??!"

"Yes, she knows that, and has proclaimed to all and sundry that she is finding it most inconvenient! Why, she'd hoped for a wedding gown by one of the Paris design houses, you know, and circles back to "is it really a honeymoon if it isn't Paris??"

Julie and Meghada shared a companionable snicker; they'd recently attended the wedding of a mutual friend; the bride had worn her best dess (out of the three she owned, other than the one she kept for cleaning the grates), and the four guests/witnesses had treated the happy couple to a quiet lunch at a little pub where Meghada knew the owner, before everyone, including the bride and groom, returned to their daily activities; their honeymoon would take place in the tiny flat they just managed to rent on their combined incomes, and certainly in their off-hours from their work-a-day duties. 

"She won't brook any disputing of her story, either. If anyone remarks that he's certainly been making himself scarce, that they must have missed seeing him escorting her around, she just pouts and talks about how busy his duties keep him, or gets weepy at how "you just don't understand how dreadful it is, him having to be away doing all those dangerous things, things a gentleman like him shouldn't be required to do!" 

Meghada took a bite of her cheese and spinach quiche, pondering this.

"Julie, has she always been like this, is it that Craig has somehow, unknowingly, inspired her, or is she just in season, like a hound bitch in heat?"

Julie refrained from spitting out that last bite of her own quiche, but with considerable difficulty; she'd experienced Meghada in an unrestrained mood before, but somehow was always taken by surprise by the totally frank way the young redhead could express herself.

"I'm not sure, but I've wondered if she hasn't just decided that she has to get married before she reaches twenty-five, which is in another three months. She has mentioned that several times, like it was a life goal that was now coming true, along with being a June bride, of course. Well, add to that the fact that Lieutenant Garrison is rather luscious, you know, that blond hair and those lovely green eyes; he'd make a pretty picture escorting her to all those social events she pictures them going to. Quite the trophy to take home with her to Virginia, too, dashing young military officer and all! You're sure he isn't interested?" that question accompanied by a sly grin, eliciting a decidedly unladylike snort of disgust.

"No, of course not, not in her or anyone else; he's already, well, let's just say he's taken, though not publicly of course, and quite happy about it, and let it go at that." That got her a rather speculative, perhaps a trifle knowing look from Julie, who had her own theory about that. 

"Just, how to convince HER of that; that she needs to just forget the whole idea."

Julie sighed, "and you're sure he couldn't come up with a wife, maybe a few little children running around somewhere? That might do the trick; not the wife alone, I'm sure, Margaret would just come up with a list of handy divorce lawyers, but the children might do the job."

Meghada grinned at the thought of enlisting a willing 'wife and several small children' from somewhere on the Friends and Family list for this project, but reluctantly decided that was too cumbersome, not only now but rather tricky for the future.

"No, unfortunately not."

"No fiancee, perhaps a highly jealous one? No, of course not; besides that probably wouldn't slow Margaret down any."

Meghada thought of what just might work, would even be true, and had to refrain from laughing at the thought. {"No, scuttling his career, getting him a Dishonorable Discharge would hardly help anyone, nor would getting the pair of them arrested, but the thought of an indignant, totally blunt, extremely possessive Goniff challenging the lady Margaret for Craig's affections, in a public, preferably rather select setting, oh, that truly is delicious!"}. And while that thought would be kept to herself, at least during this afternoon with Julie, it did cause her to pause, wonder if something similar but slightly less explosive might not just do the trick. 

Julie watched the emotions, thoughts flicker across her companion's face, intriguing her in spite of making her rather uneasy. She unknowingly echoed her brother's frequent words when she asked, hesitantly, "Meghada, do I want to know what you're thinking?" her uneasiness not being diminished by that wicked grin and arched brow, perhaps copied from Goniff.

"Probably not. Want to hear it anyway?"

Halfway through, Julie was giggling at the three options Meghada had put forth, each one capable of scandalizing a good portion of the politico-military-social scene.

"Well, while I really like the first one, and the second has its merits, you've always said it was important to keep a con simple, more truth than lie, so perhaps number three? You don't want to damage his reputation too much, though you don't seem to be worried about what that one could do to your own, and I can't see Goniff caring one little bit about what anyone thinks of his part in this. Well, not the way you are intending to present it, anyway. And it could cut down on the forced socializing; at least the eager mamas would be less attracted."

Meghada looked intrigued, wondering how much Julie actually did see, that she'd think that last one had the most truth to it! She'd often thought the feather-brained social ditz performance was as much of a mask as many of her own.

"And Meghada? Someday, you simply must tell me about the one you didn't include, the one that gave you that totally wicked look on your face a bit ago!"

Meghada laughed, "I'll think about it, Julie, but it won't be anytime soon."

Julie grinned into her cup of tea, {"no, I expect not!"}

General Abernathy was amused. Frankly he was finding the interaction with Garrison and his team of highly unusual operatives to be one of the more interesting experiences of the war, and when you added in the ever increasing involvement of one of his favorite people, the Dragon, whom he had known since her birth, well, he could always count on some brow-raising moments. Luckily for both of them, they understood each other, and he'd been a member of the Friends and Family for well long enough not to be shocked at anything she might say or do.

"Well, it would seem to me that even if the young man were interested, he wouldn't have the time or energy to do much about it," he remarked now, with a grin that sat well on his pleasant if not handsome face.

"Well, between his assignments, keeping track of the guys, doing all the other odd jobs HQ seems to get him saddled with, and US, I'd say his dance card is rather packed! And none are willing to step aside, especially US, just in case you were going to ask." 

"No, I wasn't, though it still amazes me more than a little. He seemed rather regular Army from his file, though I'll admit when I met him, his loyalty and defense of his men, his appreciation for them and their skills was unexpected. He did seem particularly impressed by the team's pickpocket, if I remember correctly," giving her a knowing look. ('Everyone Needs A Fairy Godfather')

"Aye, well, we are both impressed by our pickpocket, though the laddie is still somewhat bewildered as to why. Seems he just can't see himself as we do, but Craig and I will hopefully get him past that one of these days. On my more pessimistic days, I figure our chances are about the same as Goniff and me convincing Craig that everything bad that happens under the sun is not somehow his fault!" 

Her tone changed, "and while I'll admit there are amusing parts to this, the threat to the guys, that's not amusing. And what's rather infuriating, she isn't, as far as we can tell, even targeting them particularly; any damage to them is just an unimportant, incidental side effect of the important thing - her dragging Craig to the alter in any way necessary. If this was a Victorian novel, I'd half expect her to resort to being discovered with him in a compromising position, although he says he's never even been alone with her."

She shook her head in annoyance. "Poor man! He's been hunted and tracked by some of the best the foreign armies have to offer, and he knows how to handle that, but this??? Well, the means available to him across the Channel would hardly suit here, and especially against a lady, one of her standing. Still, it has to end before WE lose him (at least officially and temporarily) to some idiotic reassignment, OR lose our tempers, and for your information, Goniff's temper is just as bad as mine; he just hides it better and is perhaps more devious about it," and his brows reached for his hairline at that. 

"Remind me not to volunteer for babysitting down the road if that's the case," getting a sly grin in return.

"Nonsense, you'd love it! Though probably well relieved to hand the little demons back at the end of your tour! After all, you managed with me and the others, didn't you?"

He laughed, remembering her and her older sister and brothers and all they'd put him through on more than a few occasions. 

"Very well, what do you need from me?"

"Well, I thought I might ask you to gently alert the General of the fire his beloved niece is playing with. I had Mina putting a roundabout bug in the ear of one of the more gullible of our detractors that the General might be interested in some of the more lurid gossip surrounding Craig, things that would fit in well with your role - similar things but obviously being wildly misunderstood by the hoypoloi of HQ, so we're hitting him with totally appalling things, countering them with extremely odd but not so appalling things (at least by comparison) from you."

"Julie Richards is doing her wonderful imitation of a totally oblivious flibbertigibbet and dropping all kinds of little tidbits hither and yon. You know, my jealous nature, my uncertain temper, that 'ring she wears on her right hand for now, til it's permissable to switch it to her left where it truly belongs. Not a diamond, of course. She doesn't care for such, and although he was most anxious to buy her one, they decided it was better to get something she'd truly treasure, so while it's quite out of the ordinary, it's not flashy. Specially designed, of course, like all the rest of her jewelry.'"

"I, on the other hand, am preparing my most impressive attire and my most dignified and serene manner for the Wellingham affair, an affair Craig and Goniff will be escorting me to, well, Goniff first and Craig joining us shortly thereafter."

That got a startled look, and she gave him a wicked grin, "oh, you've not seen them at their best, particularly our pickpocket! I won't be the prettiest of the three, I can assure you, or even second in line; dishearting to my ego, perhaps, that is if I didn't know they were my own to take home with me! You haven't seen anything til you see Craig in formal uniform and Goniff in a well-fitted set of evening clothes. Fair make me drool, they do; it'll be a wonder if I can keep my mind on the business at hand!" getting a mockingly discouraging hrummph in reply.

"Well, you'd better be keeping your mind on business, and them too! Anyone find the three of you off in an alcove somewhere . . ." Then he got a wicked look of his own, "though, that really would set the cat amongst the pigeons!" And they shared a long laugh at the thought. 

"So, this 'gentle alert', what should I try to slip in?"

And he laughed again, thinking of how to insert 'well, for those in a leadership position in either Special Ops or Special Forces, we discourage even the most discreet public acknowledgement or recognition of such events, of course; don't want Jerry to get an idea about 'hostages of fortune', you know. So there were no formal announcements, breakfasts, bridesmaids, all that sort of thing that most women would consider their rightful due, of course, but she's a good sport about it all, I must say,' and 'have to say the family is delighted; two of our favorite people, you know, my godson AND my goddaughter; oh, no blood relation to each other, of course; two totally different families, but now them making it official, linking the two permanently, well, everyone is quite pleased.'"

When he mentally added in the 'there are those outside the inner circle who raise their brows about Goniff, Mr. Grainger, of course, but WE accept all that as well. Yes, well, Craig IS being quite open-minded about things, and understands about her other 'committment' to Mr. Grainger; finds it rather amusing, or so I've gathered, considering it's one of his own team, in fact; certainly doesn't kick up a fuss. Not the usual thing among most people, of course, but fiery blood in her family, you know, quite demanding; won't be the first to have a lover AND a hus . . . Well, not unusual to have more than one lad in her string, and Craig hardly considers the other any competition for her affection or her favors, more a partner you might say - a likeable little chap, of course, but not the bold romantic figure a field officer like Craig casts!'

'Might be happy to have him there, actually. Stories about her grandmother would tell you she could wear a man out fast enough! SHE had a husband and TWO lovers, consorts they call them, all at the same time mind you, all from the earliest days, never spent a night alone, it's said, and they all four lived to be almost a hundred, still raising eyebrows to the end. And her GREAT-GREAT GRANDMOTHER? She didn't stop there! To tell you the truth, Craig probably doesn't mind a night off every now and again to build up his strength, if you know what I mean! Hot-blooded, like I said!' He made up his mind to practice that sly and suggestive little laugh, strictly man to man, that he intended to give with that comment. He just hoped he wouldn't have to pick his fellow General up off the floor; Bond was a hefty sort.

Actually, General Abernathy was rather pleased at how easy it had been. Oh, it had been aided by the fact that General Bond had been dumbstruck not more than a dozen sentences into the conversation.

"And your family . . . I mean, they accept this, this sharing?"

"Oh, yes. Well, the families have known each other since well before my great-grandfather's day, you know. It can be a bit difficult for any newcomers, of course; I remember my grandfather telling about the time he had to explain to my grandmother when she was just a new bride, when they were invited to tea. Said, "my dear, they are old and dear friends, and they have their own ways. We have had the choice of either accepting them as they are or discarding their friendship, and on the whole we've found them good salt, well worth the effort. And, if you just give yourself some time, you might find it all as interesting and as amusing as we do now." She and Meghada's grandmother grew to be fast friends. Now, some of the funniest stories in the family are those my grandmother told!" 

"And Garrison doesn't view the other man as an interloper?"

"Oh, no. Well, couldn't hardly, since it's Craig who was late to the dance, so to speak. Don't get me wrong, her nickname of Ice Queen - that's what some up at HQ call her - it's not a misnomer. She's never played games, in fact never taken up with anyone before Garrison's man Grainger, and then Craig himself, of course; they even have a pool going in that village where she lives, who she'll send to the hospital next for trying anything with her. No, most particular, always has been. Family was starting to wonder if maybe the fiery blood had skipped her, but hardly a question now, you know!" giving an indulgent laugh.

"Perhaps what is surprising is that Grainger seems to be fine with it being Craig she's actually formalized, well . . . Of course, couldn't really have it the other way around; hardly becoming for an officer to be bedding another man's wife, especially one of his own men's. A bit unusual all around, to the outside view, I suppose, but it's certainly much closer to propriety than the other way around." 

General Bond frowned in thought; he'd been disturbed by the recent gossip he'd heard about Lieutenant Garrison and his men, and had been on the point of warning his niece away, though he wasn't sure that would do any good, as stubborn as Margaret was.

"Well, that perhaps explains some of the rather lurid talk I've heard, really some quite unbelievable, though it sounds like the gossip mill has the wrong end of the stick, certainly."

Abernathy snorted, "well, don't they usually?? Did you hear about the time they had poor Major Richards fathering a set of twins with Meghada? Thought the man was going to have an apoplexy before that was all cleared up. Turns out they were the girl's cousin's babes, being babysat by Meghada's younger sister, there being a remarkable resemblance there, and - oh, well, have him tell you about it some time. Talk about the grapevine run amuck! It was all straight out of one of those early melodrama's, the silent films, girl cast out into the snow, babes in arms, stern father pointing his finger away from the family home, sly villain stroking his moustache! ('Yes Sir, That's My Baby!') How these things get started is beyond me!"

He continued, "and yes, I've heard some of that, too, about Craig and his men; regular hotbed of vice and depravity, that place they're quartered in, to hear the gossips! Nonsense, of course, like you could run a guerilla team with all that going on, but I'd say this time someone saw a bit of Garrison and his man moving in and out of Meghada's cottage freely, seeing them interactingly at the local pub maybe, and went off on a wild tangent, and you know how things grow in the telling. Expect there's a bit of malice and some wishful thinking involved there as well. When you think of it, though, that is probably more believable to them than the truth, considering her reputation as a "little miss touch me not". One disgruntled suitor actually took to calling her "Miss Too Deadly To Bed!" laughing with amusement. ('Honey Trap') 

"Well, that's true enough, I suppose, except for Craig and Grainger. But, I have to say, Bond, I'm a little concerned about your niece taking such an open fancy to Craig, making such a determined push. There's been talk, and there's no good will come of it, for him or for your girl. I mean, he can't come right out and say he's not available, well, not with saying why; orders and all; certainly can't go about wearing a ring, you know. But she's bound to be hurt and upset when he doesn't respond the way she wants, and frankly, that goddaughter of mine hasn't a lot of patience for such nonsense. She might not be able to say why Craig isn't available, but she won't be hesitant about making it clear that he certainly ISN'T, and sometimes her social skills can be a bit lacking. There was this time with some fancy Italian female pianist; had the poor lady cancelling her final performance and making a mad dash off to the safety of the Swiss Alps, whimpering about raspberry sauce and lady fingers! ("Just Desserts"). Well, her code name is The Dragon, and for good cause I must admit."

They parted on congenial terms, General Abernathy to report to his favorite redhead, General Bond to head for his office and a lot of brooding over the mess his older niece had created.

Julie's voice was distinctive, as was her delivery, rather like a small toy with a overly wound up rubber band motor.

"Not at all what you'd expect a wedding ring to look like, and her wearing it on her right hand, because of the regulations, you know, you'd probably never guess. Well, I certainly never did, not til I admired it and asked if I could see it when she took it off to work in the garden. She blushed, which seemed a bit odd, but let me. I know she didn't intend for me to see the inscription; it is tiny, and if I didn't have excellent eyesight I'd never have been able to make it out. Well, there was certainly no doubt; I mean, the words were hardly ambiguous; I mean, you don't use the words 'darling wife' in too many contexts, do you, and with his name and hers and all. Ever so unusual it is, bronze, well, of course almost all her jewelry is. No diamonds; she doesn't much favor them, and when I imposed on our friendship and tweaked him about it, he told me that although he was at first of a mind to have one inset just so as not to have it appear as if he was slighting her in any way, he decided it would be better to have something she'd truly enjoy wearing, not just favor his ego. Which was a silly idea anyway, though typical of a man I suppose. I mean, it's not as if having something like that custom designed and made isn't every bit as expensive and impressive as a band with a diamond! The stones? Oh, those are tiny emeralds laid in amongst the braiding, almost the color of his eyes, and that is a lovely conceit, don't you think?"

"Oh, she still goes by the last name of O'Donnell, of course, not Garrison. I don't know that she'll ever change that; I mean, that's what her music and songs are written under, it's what that book she's writing is to be published under, and as long as those who need to know do so, I can't see it makes much difference. Of course, there's those who disapprove of her continuing her relationship with Goniff, Mr. Grainger, but Lieutenant Garrison seems to find it all rather amusing, saying "well, he did see her first!", and not seeming jealous or upset when they spend time together. You know, 'together'! Don't you think that's just ever so delightfully sophisticated and Continental?? And there's no straying, not on any of their parts. They are both totally faithful to her, she is totally faithful to both of them. Though there are those who attempt to try that, though any who do, well, they DO come to regret it. A most fiery temper, you know." 

Her voice lowered dramatically. "I even heard there's a certain young American lady who is making the silliest claims, like the Lieutenant is engaged to her, or as good as, and how could that be, you tell me that! Mortified, he is, never made any advances to her at all, and certainly not free to do so, and while she isn't so pleased, Meghada I mean, well, she's reining in her temper so far. Heaven knows how long that will last! Well, even for the most mild-mannered of us, that would have to be exceedingly trying, you know! Not being able to make any announcement or have a honeymoon, or a real wedding dress and wedding breakfast or anything like that, not even being able to wear your wedding ring on the right finger, and then having someone encroach like that! Of course, all of this is strictly hush-hush, so you have to promise not to say a single word! Just between us girls!"

Julie had had her say at a mid-morning tea at one of the more active of society's gossips, and with like-minded individuals of the various social spheres attending, it took no longer than afternoon tea before the whispers were flying like bees over a field of clover. Margaret Blankenship not only got the news from her own sources, several of which were rather pleased to get vindication of their own suspicions (or so they whispered amongst themselves), and had time to get thoroughly enraged when she was informed that her uncle, General Bond had arrived for tea and wished her present as there was something he wanted to discuss with her. It was a very unpleasant occasion, full of angst and fury and protestations, ending with Margaret throwing her teacup and upending the teapot itself, then dashing up the stairs making more noise than a calliope, or so stated her younger sister Constance. 

General Bond hadn't really intended for Constance to hear all that, hadn't expected all the drama, but he was relieved that the much younger girl took it all in stride.

"It's not the first time she tried to hitch her horse to a wagon that wasn't for sale," she calmly told him as she bit into a cream cake.

"Constance! Where ever did you hear such a vulgar expression??!" General Bond asked, only a twitch at the side of his face showing his amusement.

"Well, it's not," she protested, ignoring his comment. "Of course, it's possibly the first time the wagon was married, but Billy Olsen, well, he was already signed up for the priesthood when she started simpering about him; if he hadn't been chastity-bound before my beloved sister tried to get her claws into him, he certainly was by the time she finished. And Luke what's his name, just down the road; he'd been promised to the neighbor girl, a distant cousin, for just ages, wedding planned, house already being built and all; those two ended up having a hasty wedding just to put an end to all the gossip; of course, that just switched the subject of the gossip, but it died down several months later when it turned out that was as much of a Banbury tale as what Margaret was putting out since she was as neat and trim nine months after the wedding as she'd been all the way through! I never heard the full story about that young man boarding with Aunt Lucille while he was finishing his degree, but after Margaret started in talking about short engagements and where they'd live after they were married, he suddenly remembered a prior appointment and headed back to New York on the morning train! He never DID come back, just transferred to another university; I know, because I helped Aunt Lucille pack up all his stuff and ship it off to him."

"I don't know if Margaret just has bad luck or bad sense, or just a really inappropriate sense of timing; personally I sometimes think it's just a really inappropriate sense of entitlement! I suggested once she be sure the man was perhaps at least slightly interested before she starts planning her trousseau and she threw the curling iron at me; see," she said, tilting her chin, "I still have the scar. Here, uncle, try a jam tart; it's ever so good!" and he allowed he just might do that, and they spent a companionable afternoon together.

He was fast coming to think there was a lot more to this younger sister than he'd realized, and unfortunately, that that was true of the older sister as well, though not in as pleasant a manner. He left thinking the situation had been resolved, but also thinking his family rather owed Lieutenant Garrison and 'Miss' O'Donnell an apology; he refused to admit the rather uncomfortably positioned Mr. Grainger into his reckonings. He was very uneasy over his recent manoeuverings to get the young Lieutenant reassigned, all based on the nonsense Margaret had been spouting, and spoke to his Aide the first thing when he returned to the office, putting all such efforts to a halt, much to the relief of just about everyone concerned.

The elegant evening at the Wellingham's held the cream of the social scene; not so much the stuffier of the lot, but the ones in the hustle and bustle of the politico-military-social crowd. Julie Richards was there, her reluctant brother Major Kevin Richards in tow; it had been debated whether the stuffy British officer should be present, but it had been decided it was probably better for him to be there than to hear about it later. Julie had brought him a rather nice bottle of whiskey when she'd dropped by his flat to pick him up; she figured he'd need it afterwards. He'd looked at her rather suspiciously as he accepted it, but then shrugged and sat it down on his desk. He hadn't wanted to attend this business at the Wellingham's, but Julie pouted at him, saying she didn't have another escort and she'd already accepted the invitation and decided on what to wear and had her hair done and . . . So he acted like the dutiful big brother he was and got out his dress uniform and had a drink to put himself in a better frame of mind. 

He'd spent the afternoon fretting on how to handle the Garrison mess, although he had to admit the pressure from General Bond had ceased suddenly. He had to wonder if part of the renewed lurid whispering about the American Lieutenant and his men had something to do with it, and that newest, most unbelievable part of the grapevine, that Garrison and The Dragon were secretly married, and her still continuing her inexplicable affair with that cheeky little Cockney, all with the Lieutenant's amused blessing.

Richards sometimes wondered just what fed the grapevine, even mused about it with Private Ames, "something hallucinogenic, obviously!" getting a wide smile of agreement from the rusty haired young man.

"They do get everything all twisted, don't they, sir?; hard to tell what's true and what's not, after it makes the rounds a time or two!" young Ames laughed. Something about the way Ames said that made Richards slightly uneasy; he took a closer look, but his Aide turned away quickly, headed back to his desk, and Richards just shrugged. {"Maybe Garrison is right; maybe we all just need to get more sleep!"}

He was conversing with Major Leeds and his wife when he felt the room go still. Glancing up he saw Meghada O'Donnell at the entrance of the room, on the arm of that impertinent little Cockney! Richards had to admit the elegant and well-fitted set of evening clothes made a world of difference in the man's appearance. {"He looks . . . I don't know, somehow, like he belongs in this setting, totally at ease,"} noting the easy yet slightly aloof smile on the man's face. Richards frowned, remembering that little affair with Charles Redmond, once again noting the uncanny resemblance; he'd never quite understood how the uneducated, slightly clumsy, frequently crude Cockney had carried that impersonation off, but now he was beginning to get a glimmer. Meghada looked regal and proud on his arm. Richards excused himself and walked over to say good evening. 

Well, what he actually said was more along the lines of a low and fervently whispered "and how did you wrangle an invitation for him and what are you up to?" all uttered with dire apprehension. He got that ever so appropriate social smile, the one for which she had that utterly disgusting description ["I call this my 'aint I just a bloody 'me arse dont stink' elegant toff, and aint you just so lucky Oim gracing you with my fuckin presence' smile"].

"Good evening, Kevin."

From Goniff he got a sly grin and a casual but equally low pitched, "evening, Major. Come to see the toffs at play? The Warden was 'eld up, so I'm filling in as 'Gaida's escort. Lucky I 'ad the clothes 'andy, ei? Even studied up on which ruddy fork to use!"

Richards gave them both a singularly dirty look and started to say something else when they were approached by Mr. and Mrs. Wellingham.

"Miss O'Donnell, how delightful you were able to join us. Major Richards, it's always a pleasure to see you. And this gentleman is?"

Richards watched as Meghada introduced "Mr. Grainger, a most dear friend. Lieutenant Garrison was delayed, so I prevailed on Mr. Grainger to provide me escort, and he ever so kindly agreed."

Richards was glad he wasn't taking a sip from his glass when Goniff made his bow and those gracious words, just the right words, in just the right tone and a totally acceptable upperclass accent, flowed from his mouth. He was greeted with considerable enthusiasm, and Richards saw a quick appreciative glance flash from the husband to the wife and back. He groaned, wondering what they'd heard. 

He hated to leave the two rascals to their own devices, but he was called away by the Deputy Minister of European Affairs and ended up on the other side of the room. He'd noted General Bond in the swirling throng, obviously escorting that extremely attractive young brunette in the white dress; Julie had rather snickered when she'd seen the young woman, and Richards had almost asked her what she found so amusing when his sister dashed away to join some of her own set. He wondered sometimes why she insisted on his escort so often, when she abandoned him at the first opportunity, sometimes not coming back til the event was on its last legs.

He noted uneasily that there seemed to be a lot of attention from the crowd, glances flowing back and forth, from Meghada and Goniff over to that brunette and back again. Meghada seemed to be rather oblivious to it, but the young woman with the General was working up to a slow burn from the increasing flush in her cheeks and the tightness drawing those rouged lips.

A young voice sounded at his elbow, "that's my sister, if you're wondering, clouding up like a thunderstorm. General Bond is our uncle. I wouldn't get too close if I were you; I imagine she's working herself up to one heck of a hissy fit and she tends to throw things. Has a dreadful aim, so if you're the one she's aiming at you're probably safe, but I can't say the same for anyone else in the vicinity."

He turned to see a young woman, no, perhaps still more a girl, maybe mid-teens, tall and gangly, probably destined to be quite a swan but not quite there yet, a lot of duckling still showing, humorous rich blue eyes looking into his silver-grey ones.

"Julie says you're her brother. You don't look like you're enjoying yourself very much."

She wrinkled her nose, "me either. I'd rather be out riding a horse or reading or just about anything other than parading around in a lot of fuss and feathers," looking down with disapproval at the finely crafted dress she was wearing. "Still, couldn't let dear Uncle George deal with Margaret all on his own. She rather overpowers him, you know. Well, she tends to overpower almost everyone, but I think she might have met her match this time. Julie says you know her well, The Dragon, Miss O'Donnell, I mean. Does she really have an absolutely dreadful temper? I'd love to see her just lay Margaret out cold in the punch bowl!" That was spoken with true little sister vindictiveness, pointing to many past events between the sisters probably not spoken of in public. 

Richards choked on his drink, "I hardly think she'd do such a thing, especially in public. Whatever made you think she might?"

And only by a supreme effort did he suppress his groans, then his curses, as the talkative young woman gleefully poured out the whole story, start to finish, well, at least what was supposedly the whole story. He resolved to give all parties a stern scolding; hell, he was severely tempted to give Julie a brisk spanking, and would have included Meghada if he thought he could get away with it. Goniff he just wanted to put on bread and water and hang him from the rafters by his ankles for agreeing to be a part of this mischief, even more for so obviously enjoying it! And where the hell was Garrison, to leave him with this impending explosion??

He'd no sooner let that fuming thought into his mind when he saw the crowd again focus on the door, and there he stood, sharp and admittedly handsome in his dress uniform. A warm smile crossed his face as he made his way across the room to Meghada and Goniff, leaning down to deliver a whisper into her ear, along with the slightest, almost indiscernable kiss to her cheek, that brought a blush and gentle laugh to the rogue, {"just how DOES she manage to blush on command??!"}, then giving her escort a brief amused but approving look up and down, obviously taking in that rather astonishing change from the usual misfitting khaki's, along with a laughing greeting which was returned in the same spirit. If anyone was expecting any animosity on any of their parts, they were surely disappointed, for all seemed most amiable, most comfortable with each other. 

The whispers started, here and there, and Richards now knew, deep in his soul, that he was in the presence of another of their infamous cons, and girded himself for what lay ahead. He glanced at Margaret Blankenship, at the sheer fury on her pretty face, and looked again at the face of the younger sister at his side. He noted that look of long-awaited vindication finally at hand and wondered uneasily if Julie ever felt that deep-seated resentment toward him that this youngster obviously felt toward her older sister.

Those blue eyes looked up at him, "I know, it's probably terrible of me, but she's earned it, you know. She saw him, decided she wanted him, so she just decided he was hers for the taking; told everyone he WAS hers, never mind he wanted no part of her! She's always taken whatever she's wanted, no matter if it belonged to someone else or if it was even available for the taking; that's never been important, and our parents let her get away with it because she's the oldest, the 'pretty' one, the one with a 'future', made everyone else go along with it too. Sometimes she takes things she doesn't even want, just to make sure you don't get it. Excuse me, I'm going to go ask Julie to introduce me to what I am sure are going to become my heroes and my heroine, unless you'd like to escort me?" 

He glowered down at her, saw the cheerful determination in her face, "your sister won't be happy with you," to get a toss of that dark head and a firm, "I really don't care; I may never get this opportunity again," and her voice became coaxing, "and if YOU introduce me, then I can really say I didn't just go over all on my own, now can't I? And imagine how annoying it will be for her to see me on the arm of such an impressive gentleman as yourself!"

He shook his head, amusement warring with trepidation, "you are nigh on to becoming a minx, young lady!"

"No, I've never had the chance to do that, but it sounds interesting. Would a minx start up a playful flirtation with a dashing, more mature, gentleman, a military officer, a British major perhaps?" and to his amazement, and even more to his sister Julie's, they did just that, her arm linked through his, his head tilted to catch her every word.

General Bond wrinkled his forehead, feeling that headache start to throb. He felt he'd already endured just about enough from his older niece; the thought that the younger one, the one he'd thought more sensible, and if not that, at least young enough not to be getting into any serious trouble, was now about to enbark on her own round of mischief had him wondering if he could find quicker transport to take the two back to Virginia and safely into the hands of their parents. Still, he consoled himself with the quick understanding nod and reassuring glance Major Richards had given him; the British officer hadn't struck him as an opportunist, or one given to tampering with young girls, and he'd met the Major's exceedingly silly younger sister, so he decided Richards had just taken on a similar big-brother role with Constance.

Of course, Margaret had a few choice venomous words to say, but only got her a distracted, "don't be foolish, Margaret, and keep your voice down. She'll not come to any harm in his company; he seems a perfect gentleman. Be nice and she may introduce you; at least he's not married, at least as far as I know," getting a truly vicious look from his niece. He was well on the way to thinking Lieutenant Garrison had had a rather close call. HE certainly wouldn't want to be married to someone with the temperment he now saw was the reality of this young woman he'd thought he knew better.

Meghada was both charmed and amused by Constance, Constance was intrigued by Meghada, impressed by Garrison, and totally delighted with Goniff, in whom she sensed a kindred spirit. When he invited her to join him for a glass of punch "and maybe a strategic strike on the buffet tables?", she grinned with glee, but looked at Meghada as if for permission. Seeing the indulgent nod, hearing the "just keep her within sight of the others; no sense in starting talk that could hurt her," getting a ready agreement from the smiling {"utterly adorable and ever so handsome man, even if he is a bit shorter than me"} who gently took her by the elbow and led her in the direction of the refreshment tables.

Together they found even more in common as they sampled this and that, rolled their eyes at the notion of sardines on bread points at an affair like this, and moaned over the cream cakes, meeting each other's eyes with a guilty laugh as they started on thirds of those chocolate profiteroles. His blue eyes shone as he leaned in close and told her in a low whisper, "you 'ave cream on the left side of your mouth and chocolate on the other! Best lick it off!"

If she hadn't heard the stories about him and the redhead, she'd have suggested perhaps he take care of that for her, just to see his reaction, but that was far too much like something she would have done only in her more mischievious fantasies, something ventured by that 'minx' she'd have liked to be but didn't quite have the nerve to become. Somehow he knew though, and grinned conspiratorially at her, "and if you were a few years older, and if things were different, I'd not 'ave minded in the least," getting a delighted giggle from her. If not full, at least more satisfied in many ways, he led her back to Richards and the others, and together they described the bounty they'd indulged in.

Lieutenant Garrison then offered his arm to her for the next dance, and her cup filled to the top and spilled over. Again, the young woman glanced at Meghada, again getting a fond nod, and the whirl around the dance floor was heady and exhilarating. Mr. Grainger then led her out, and after that Major Richards claimed the same favor, and after, she stood and chatted happily with Meghada before reluctantly allowing Major Richards to lead her back to her Uncle's group. 

Richards wandered away, wanting to see what Julie was up to in the company of Dillan Ferrell, a total n'er do well of their acquaintenance that he'd warned her about time after time, but the three co-conspirators were careful to stay fairly close together, never really out of each other's sight. The con wasn't over, not til the mark truly took the hook and ran with it, then was landed.

That came when Margaret cornered Garrison outside a curtained alcove, tried to manoeuvre him inside. He stood firm, back to that space, but going no further. She berated him, pleaded with him, wept tears you'd have sworn were real and heartfelt.

"I love you! I want you! That has to count for something. I've already told everyone we're getting married; you can't make a fool of me like this. You HAVE to marry me!"

Garrison shifted his eyes from the virago in front of him to the dapper figure lounging a few feet behind her, back leaning casually against one of those carved pillars. She whirled at that sardonic voice.

"You know, Maggie girl, it's skirts like you what give love a bad name! You want him so he's got to cave and do what you say. Don't work like that, you know." His 'h's' seemed to be working just fine; other than his overly familiar style of address and calling her a 'skirt', the Cockney in him seemed somewhat suppressed, though the chilly anger perhaps not quite so well.

"Seems you'd have better luck going about it all a bit differently. Maybe you should make a list of those blokes who are available and wouldn't mind being chased, narrow it down to those who might not mind being caught by someone pretty and rich like you, and then work on those, stead of wasting your time chasing those who don't like the whole idea, you know? Bet there's any number of those around; maybe some of the ladies here could help you pick out a few? Just stay away from those already taken, you should do just fine."

Her evening bag hit one of the ladies standing in a small group behind Goniff, eliciting a shrill yelp! of alarm. The ladies had been facing away, although listening avidly, so hadn't seen that wildly errant throw. Richards noted that Constance had been right, Margaret didn't have a very good aim. Meghada was now coming up fast from one direction, General Bond from the other. The British Major had really hoped the General would get there first, but no such luck.

The stone-faced redhead was now directly in front of the furious woman. Her voice was low but quite audible. "Best calm down, Miss Breckenridge. You're clearly overwrought and not thinking clearly. You don't want to make a spectacle of yourself, do you?"

The General was there now, "well, it's a little late for that, I'm afraid. Come along, Margaret, we are going home. I am sure our hosts will understand; I'll make my apologies to them tomorrow for this unseemly disruption of their evening."

She yanked her arm away from his hand, turned to Garrison and snarled, "this isn't over. If you think you can get away with this, you and your little . . ."

The General was truly fed up. "Margaret, keep still! My apologies, Lieutenant Garrison, Mrs - Miss O'Donnell." He looked around for Constance, who wasn't enjoying this nearly as much as she'd thought she would; oh, she wasn't sorry for her sister, but it did seem a shame to disrupt such a pretty party. She quickly said her goodbye's to those who'd taken the trouble to make her evening so much more pleasant than she'd thought it would be, and followed her grim faced uncle and mutinous sister outside.

It was a cold silent ride home, and once inside Margaret had truly outdone herself by having violent hysterics, throwing things and making wild accusations and threats, then, at the stern setdown by her uncle, hurled one last china shepherdess across the room into the brick fireplace, dashed up the stairs, slamming their bedroom door so hard it was surprising the hinges didn't shatter. 

Constance stayed below, pouring General George Bond a goodly tot of brandy, even daring to pour herself just a smidge. Frankly, she thought they both needed and deserved it. George noticed the drink in her hand, and while he raised a reproving brow, said nothing as he watched her sip it gracefully. She and her uncle discussed the evening, her impressions of the people involved, and he would find himself impressed with her acumen.

"So you didn't find them offensive or off-putting, you say. You liked them, Constance? Felt you could hold your own with them?" he asked, truly curious as to her answer.

"Ever so much so, Uncle George. All three of the gentlemen were very nice to me, quite respectful but letting me enjoy myself. They all asked me to dance, you know. Mr. Grainger and I raided the buffet tables and he is ever so much fun, but never anything that would cause any worry!" she confessed with a giggle. "And Major Richards was nice, letting me flirt with him, sort of like for practice, you know? I've never dared do that before, for fear of how Margaret and our parents would react. I would have flirted with Mr. Grainger too, I don't think he would have minded or taken it as anything but what it was, but I thought Miss O'Donnell might not quite like it so I didn't. Lieutenant Garrison I'm not sure I would have dared; there is a seriousness there that keeps you at arms length, like his responsibilities are always on his mind. Miss O'Donnell, oh I DID like her! She's not pretty, not what most would call pretty anyway, but I thought she outshone almost all the other ladies. There's just something so real about her, when everyone else seemed like, oh, I don't know, like they were acting a part, 'how the sophisticated member of society should appear', you know? And she was nice to me, kind, and with what Margaret tried, she had every reason not to be, with us being sisters. And she could have been much nastier to Margaret too, but she wasn't. And Julie Richards? She comes off as a nitwit, obviously, but I don't really think that's the case. I think she has her reasons for how she acts, and I wouldn't be surprised if she isn't really quite smart underneath it all."

They parted on good terms with each other, though Constance was a little apprehensive about Margaret's reaction when she entered the room. However, the older sister was already in bed, light out, back firmly turned away, and night passed peacefully enough. And the morning brought the news that Margaret was to return home, immediately, and the even more delightful news (well, at least to Constance), that Constance was invited, nay encouraged to stay in the General's household for the time being.

Constance would put that down in her diary as one of the best nights of her life, would have thought so even without the lovely surprise invitation by her uncle. The General had decided she was remarkably good company, and had the makings of a good hostess, and truly, she never did return home, other than for a few short (very short!) visits, not really wanting to hear all the moaning and groaning about her somehow stealing 'a position that should rightfully been your sister's!'.

In fact, after the first two episodes, the General himself suggested, "that's what air mail is for, Constance; that will let them do all the complaining they want, and you can just burn the letters when they arrive, BEFORE you open the envelopes even, if you wish. I've done so on more than one occasion," and he and his favorite niece shared a laugh. And while she never actually burned the letters before at least skimming them, she never took them to heart, just being grateful her parents and sister were far away.

Later, when Constance was courted and won by his senior Aide, the General gave the bride away, and she continued to serve as his hostess for as long as he needed one. He babysat their children, and lived out his final days in their home. Over the years he thought about that debacle in London, and counted it one of the luckiest things that could have happened to him, and he and his niece and her family were true Friends to Meghada and her family from that time forward.

The drive back to Brandonshire was an odd one, jubilent at times, silent and reflective at others. Goniff in particular seemed in an odd frame of mind, which was never a good thing. He tended to brood, take more on his shoulders than was healthy or sometimes wise, just as Craig tended to take on the responsibility for anything and everything that went wrong in his sphere of existence. They could recognize that fault, that weakness in each other, but not in themselves, and Meghada was often caught up with trying to shake things out to make better sense before things got pulled too far out of shape. They wouldn't be able to stay once they got back to her Cottage; there was a mission briefing in the morning with the Handlers expected early, so she thought it was best to get right down to it, not let whatever it was fester. She took a deep breath and pulled the car off the side of the road onto a bypass. She was driving since Goniff at the wheel was never the best of ideas, and she'd teased Craig that it was beneath his dignity as an officer to be chauferring them. 

She got out of the car, telling them crisply, "both of you, out here please." Then, when they joined her, puzzled at what this was all about, "alright, laddie, what's troubling you, and don't be telling me nothing; I can read you far too well for that."

Garrison was a little relieved; he'd known something was, but wasn't sure how to approach it.

Goniff drew on that ever-present cigarette, leaned back against the car, and said nothing; they waited patiently, knowing he'd get to it in his own time. Then, "that putting it out that you two are married; that was a good idea, it worked, should keep the vultures away right enough, least those with serious intentions. But . . . Why the con? Why not for real? Everyone's gonna believe it is anyway; put paid to any 'social life' either of you might 'ave if you take the notion, least not without a stink." His voice was odd, like his throat was tight.

Garrison frowned, looking at the figure next to him, wishing there was enough light to see Goniff's face. The man couldn't hide much of anything from him, not anymore, but not being able to see left the Lieutenant adrift. Meghada felt the same, wishing for more light, but trying to feel her way into whatever was causing this reaction.

"You mean, aside from the fact that Craig loves you, not me, and I love you, not him? At least . . . well, you know what I mean. And the fact that weddings among these particular Outlanders don't understand or recognize, don't make allowances for what the three of us share? As Clan, we don't do much 'marrying' as such, though it happens now and again under very special circumstances; there's no laws against it. And I don't mind lying, for a con or any other good purpose, including keeping the idiots off my back. But while I don't know how Craig feels about it, I'm not much for saying vows I don't intend to keep; those are a bit different from regular lies and I think I'd be reluctant to ignore them once I made them, and even more reluctant to keep them. And that 'forsaking all others' part, I couldn't promise that to Craig, now could I? Nor him to me, either. To you, yes, love, certainly, if you wanted, needed me to, though that would change things for the three of us some, perhaps, depending on how we choose to interpret them. And I wouldn't think you'd be anxious for that, either of you. Perhaps if it all became necessary, we could stage such a ceremony, but with a few changes making it all fit better." 

She paused, thought for a moment, "do you, both of you, see things differently than I do? Goniff, I see you as my love, my Bond Mate, the one I cherish above all others. Craig, I see you as Goniff's love, and my partner, whom I care about deeply, love on some level, certainly, but not the same as I do him. Do you see it differently? Am I reading it all wrong? And just to clarify, I for one have no desire for a 'social life' other than what I have; do you?"

There was silence again, then a hoarse laugh from their Englishman as he reached out to hug her against him tightly.

"No, that sounds bout right, eh Craig?" and a voice a little more husky than usual agreed, "sounds just right, Goniff. Just right," as he moved in to join that embrace. They stood for a few minutes in the silent darkness, then moved back to the car and their destinations. Their immediate destinations - the Cottage at Brandonshire, then for the two men, the Mansion. In the long run? Well, that was a matter for time to clarify, but hopefully it would be together; it seemed like that was just how it was supposed to be.

And as for Kevin Richards, the question of what was real, what had been a con, well, that wasn't resolved right away either, and he made himself put it out of his mind, realizing no good would come of fretting over it. Wasn't like he had anything to say about the whole ridiculous situation anyway! And it showed just how far he had come in his own journey that he'd finally accepted that.


End file.
